Tethered Redemption
by Maqeurious
Summary: When God asked Odin if he wanted Loki to seek penance for his actions in NY, he said yes. What better way then to send him to Earth, stick him the Winchesters and force him to save the people he once tried to rule? Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor? [Dean/Loki.] Rating changed for violence, just in case.
1. Beginning

Title: Tethered Redemption  
Author: Maqeurious  
Show/s: Supernatural/The Avengers Crossover  
Characters: Winchesters/Loki/Various

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**Beginning**

**Chapter One:**

"Odin, it is your move."

The large, white bearded man furrowed his brow as he stared at the pieces on the board. He was barely paying attention, and now his queen was coming very close to being captured. His finger hovered over one of his lone pawns, and he hesitated. If he moved it, his bishop would be vulnerable, but in one more move his rook would be free to corner the opposing king. He brought his fingers to his chin, pulling nonchalantly at the thick stubble there.

"You look troubled my friend," the voice opposite him said again. "Is there something you would like to talk about?"

Odin flicked his one good eye up and into the face of his companion, visually tracing the faint lines and wrinkles that creased the man's otherwise flawless skin, before settling on his inquisitive stare. His brow was cocked as he awaited an answer, and Odin found himself hesitating once again.

"I have difficulty even knowing where to start, Yahweh."

The God on the other side of the chess board smiled, and Odin felt his apprehension ease slightly. It had been only a few months since his fallen son Loki brought destruction to Midgard and had subsequently been imprisoned for it. And as much as it hurt to have his son hate him with such a passion that he would bring war to one of the nine realms, he couldn't help but think his punishment was too light. It wasn't that he wished Loki to be physically harmed, he was still his son after all, but a sentence in the dungeons was akin to a smack on the wrist for an immortal demigod. How was he supposed to learn his lesson? How was he supposed to learn that what he had done to the citizens of Earth was wrong? Was his son so cold and heartless? Did he not feel mercy or responsibility? Guilt? Love? Is that how he and Frigga had raised him?

Odin sighed, his heart sinking. His hand went up to cradle his temple as he leaned against the table and stared down at the chess board. After a long, drawn out minute he edged his pawn up a space between two white opposing pieces. He couldn't help but hear Yahweh's breath hitch as he removed his finger, leaving his pawn surrounded by the enemy.

"Loki..." he finally said, his voice ragged with concern, "I... I do not know what he was thinking. I do not understand what is going through that boys head any more."

"He is angry," Yahweh responded simply with no malice in his voice.

"Clearly." Odin shifted in his seat as Yahweh hovered a slender hand over the board, coming to rest on one of his knights.

"Perhaps I... should have left him all those years ago." Just saying the words made his heart clench in his chest. "If I had left him in Jotunheim with his own people..."

The Gods hand froze as his gaze lifted to met Odin's. "You would never have done that, old friend. He was but a babe in the midst of war, left to die."

"Yes, and my first thought was that I could use him one day."

Yahweh smiled sadly, his eyes softening. "Your intentions were noble. Good. You loved him like a son regardless, did you not?"

Odin nodded, his breath giving out slightly. "Of course. But the things he has done are... unforgivable. Not just here in Asgard, but in your realm too."

Yahweh dropped his gaze to the board once more and pushed his knight, sliding it across the squares until it hit the Norse gods bishop, eliminating it from play. The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide a small smile.

"I do know a little something about rebellious children Odin," he said as he laid the defeated bishop to the side of the board. "My own sons and daughters have risen against me on more then one occasion. And although their reasons are varied and valid... to a point, it still hurts each and every time."

Odin winced as his piece was removed, but his interest in the game was quickly waning. "How do you deal with it?" he asked, quickly scanning the remaining pieces for his next move and coming up short on options. "How do you make them see the error of their ways? Your children. These... angels?"

"As much as I love them all, even the most loyal among them are not exempt from punishment if it is deemed necessary. My punishments are many and just as varied as their reasons to disobey and rebel against me. But, it is never done out of hate, or even out of disappointment. It is always, _always _done out of love."

Odin nodded, letting the words sink in. If he were to punish Loki in such a way – punish him out of love, would he finally learn what it meant to be a son of Asgard. Would he realize that not even a small mortal life form was below him? He just couldn't be sure. Loki's anger was great. Consuming.

Without paying much attention, Odin pushed his rook halfway down the board to capture one of Yahweh's pieces. He wasn't even sure which one it was, his mind was far from the game now. If he had Loki taken from his cell, the aesir would certainly be against it. And as King of Asgard, or more importantly – Loki's father - he had to remain neutral. He couldn't show favoritism, he had to be seen as fair in the eyes of his people.

"I can help you. If that is what you wish."

Odin raised his head and met Yahweh eye to eye, unsure if he had heard what he did. Yahweh was smiling, and it made Odin feel oddly calm. It wasn't a vicious smile, or one of pity and sorrow. He saw compassion and understanding there. Compassion for his friend, and the understanding that came as a father with a wayward child.

"We have known each other a long time, Odin. You are a dear confidante to me. We have been through much, you and I. What would you have Loki do to redeem himself? What is it you want Loki to learn?"

"Learn?" The Norse asked. He didn't have to wonder too long. "I would have him learn humility."

"An interesting lesson," Yahweh replied as he played with his now unblocked queen on the board. "Loki has committed many wrongs on Earth, perhaps he should serve penance there?"

"On Earth?" This surprised Odin greatly, and now all of his apprehension was slowly coming back. He wasn't blind to the power of the God before him. He was _the_ Creator. The one true God of Midgard, and there were none stronger then He. He was famous for his wrath and jealousy. He had the power to wipe his world clean and start again, which he had done so.

"You do not like the idea?" Yahweh asked, noticing Odin's sudden silence. "Are you worried I might do something to him? Harm him in retaliation?"

"Would you?"

Yahweh dragged his gaze up from his queen. "Only place him on his path, my friend. A path of redemption... of sorts."

Odin frowned, weighing the possibilities in his head. Sending Loki to Midgard could be a grave mistake. He hated the humans there, he had tried to rule them, kill them. And yet Yahweh was willing to help him find atonement among his own people?

"Why would you do this?" he asked, confused. "Are _you_ not angry at him? He invaded your world with an alien army, killed many of your children. If you are willing to let him back I can not help but think the worst."

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not without the ability to forgive Odin. However, I will not lie to you..." He steeled Odin's gaze with a serious expression and leaned over the chess board as if to whisper in the Norse Gods ear. "He will not like it. In fact, I am sure he will hate it and will do what ever he can to escape. But worry not, he can not escape my watchful eye." He returned to his seat and sat back. "As to why I would do this – like I said – you and I have been through much together. Call it... a favor."

"What would you have him do?"

But Yahweh just shook his head. "It is best if you do not know. Just put your trust and faith in me. I will see to it he is placed on his path. It will be long, and it will be hard. But, it will be worth it." His attention returned once again to the chess board, lifting his queen and rolling her through his fingertips. "All you have to do is say yes, my friend."

Odin's first instinct was to say 'no'. At least in Asgard he could still feel his son close by. He could still think of visiting him in the dungeons, even though he knew he would not actually go. At least here, Frigga could still be near him. Love him. Mother him. But on Midgard? His face was known, his crimes were known. He would be hunted. Vilified. Possibly even killed, and the humans there would have every right.

But if his long life had taught him anything, it was that Yahweh never did anything on a whim. He was meticulous in his thinking, even if to others his methods seemed mysterious. Did he trust him? Of course. Could he put his faith in him? Without a doubt. But, could he place the life of his treasured son into his hands, no matter how broken he was now? The ache in the pit of his stomach told him he had no choice.

"How will you get to him? He is under constant guard. Once they find him gone, the aesir will hunt him down and execute him on the spot."

"You forget who you are talking to, Odin. Do not fear. No one will ever no he is even gone." His grin was crooked as he spoke, cheeky almost. "So, do we have a deal?"

Odin resigned himself, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Yes." He said simply.

"Great." With a swipe of his wrist, Yahweh placed his queen on an empty square to the left of a lonely looking black king. His wide smile reached his eyes as he let out a small laugh. "Checkmate."

Odin couldn't even let the defeat sink in before he looked up and realized Yahweh was long gone.

**o.O.o**

In the depths of Asgards dungeon, Loki was pacing in his cell. At least his fake self was anyway. It was a perfect replica, an illusion to be proud of that he could hide behind while his real self sat dejected on the floor in the corner.

He stretched his long legs out to the front of him and flexed his toes, groaning against the strain that had invaded his joints by being confined in such a way. He hated it here. Caged like a wild animal and on show like an exhibit.

"Do you miss it yet? The fresh air? The open sky?"

Loki almost jumped out of his perfectly, pale skin. A quick turn of his head brought him almost nose to nose with a strange man who had tucked himself so close to Loki, he could taste the strong odor of ozone from him.

"And who might you be?" Loki asked, confusion masking his weary face. He ran a quick eye around the cell. His 'other self' was now sitting towards the front of the room, a worn book in his lap. The guards that patrolled along the halls would eye his mirage and sneer, but to his surprise didn't seem to notice the extra body that occupied his prison. His gaze landed on the man again, his brow arching. "I don't think I've reached the point of hallucinating... yet."

"Me? I am your salvation, Loki Odinson. Or, is it Laufeyson?"

The name stung and he bared back his lips in protest. The man pulled back a little, and Loki could see his blue eyes run him up and down. "Who are you?"

Before the last of his words escaped his mouth, the man was now across the room and looking whimsically at Loki's double. It didn't look up at all however. It couldn't sense or even feel when the man ran a lone finger along it's temple to sweep a stray lock of dark hair back beyond it's hairline.

"You have caused a lot of trouble for me, Loki." He said to the illusion, yet addressing the real him. "You come to my world, harm my children. Disrupt their lives. Did you really think you could take my place as their God?"

"Well, it seemed fun at the ti...me"

Once again Loki was caught off guard as the man seemingly melted into thin air and was somehow face to face with him. There was no anger as he looked at him, but Loki could see a certain spark behind his electric blue eyes that made him back up a bit and lick at his lips nervously.

"And yet here you are in a jail cell," the man said in a low growl. "Forced to put on a front because you are scared that the people here will see just how weak you really are." Then before Loki could even think, the man had placed his hand along his jawline, cupping him roughly so he could lift his chin and bring him closer. He could feel a chill radiating from where he was being held, like someone was running ice cubes over his skin, and it made him shiver deep inside. It wasn't until his vision started to turn hazy that he realized what was going on. He didn't need to see it, he could feel it. He could feel his asgardian facade being stripped away, only to be replaced by his true self – his Jotun self. He tried to break free from the grip on him, but the mans hold was like a vice. "Is it still... fun?" he asked.

Loki swallowed thickly, and met the man eye to eye. "What do you want? Revenge?"

"Well, I am rather famous for my vengeful ire."

If Loki had ever been afraid, it felt nothing like the raw fear he was feeling now. It wasn't the strength this man had, or the look of fire in his eyes that frightened him. It was being exposed as the creature he hated so much, the monster he kept hidden underneath his own false skin. He was fairly certain he knew now just who this man before him was. No not man... God. "Then do it, I don't care," he all but screamed, "I would rather die then be locked up here for the rest of my life."

But as quick as the fire in the Gods eyes was ignited, it dissipated. With a gentle motion, he released Loki and offered him a genuine smile instead. "You're not as good a liar as you may think you are."

"Oh...no?" Loki stuttered, relief washing over him as he felt his skin once again take on his pale, asgardian front.

"No," the God said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I have something much better in mind for you, son of Odin. I told you I was your salvation, did I not? You spent your time on Earth bringing death and destruction to my precious children, but now you will help them. You will help protect them – save them – and you will do so even if it costs you the one thing you care about most. Your life."

Loki almost choked on his own scorn as he sneered. "Why would I do that? Why should I care about your pathetic, mewling mortals."

The look that clouded Gods eyes made him regret his words almost immediately.

"Careful Loki. I may be a loving God, but I have no qualms about snapping my fingers and making you nothing but a bloody stain on all four walls. And we both know, I would only be thanked for it."

Loki swallowed down the lump of nerves in his throat and looked away. Staring into those azure pools felt like the walls were closing around him. "But you won't. R..right?"

The God remained silent, and Loki had a terrible feeling he had pushed a little too far. He could feel those eyes on him still, piercing deep inside of him. His palms were beginning to feel clammy.

"No, I won't." he said after a long pause.

"Why... why not?"

"I like you." the God said without missing a beat, a hearty smile donning his face. "You're funny."

Funny?Loki almost burst out in laughter. He was being saved from a royal smiting, because he was _funny_?

"I see," he managed to choke out with a snort of disbelief. "Well then, that's... great. So, what's the plan? Are you going to perform a daring rescue and bust me out of here like some damsel in distress? I swear, if you carry me princess-style, I think I may just die from embarrassment."

Yahweh laughed as he rose to his feet and extended a hand to pull Loki up along side him. "Oh yes, you're going to fit in with them very well."

Loki's brow quirked with interest. "With who exactly?"

"Oh," Yahweh shrugged, "just some wayward sons of my own."

"And, what am I supposed to do?"

He settled on the Gods eyes again, catching the flicker of mirth in them. The corner of his mouth raised slowly into a cocky grin. "Whatever they tell you to." he said.

Loki was about to give a snappy comeback, but before he could open his mouth Yahweh extended two of his fingers and pressed them gently against the demigods forehead. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Yahweh chuckled to himself. He really did like the arrogant boy. He guessed he had a soft spot for them, considering is own sons. He could only hope now that Odin's son would follow his path and come out the other side whole. Or as whole as could be.

With a wave of his hand, Loki's illusion disappeared and he was finally left all alone. He made a beeline to the front of the cell and craned his neck to look up and down the hallway before meeting the gaze of one of the guards. The asgardian puffed out his chest, his eyes going wide as he stomped with fury towards Loki's cell. But Yahweh held his comical smile and stepped back slightly as the guard came to a stop in front of him.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Loki Laufeyson! Traitorous whoreson! Or I'll come in there and wipe it off for you!"

Instead of replying; Yahweh turned on his heel and slunk back to the wall, sliding down to take a seat. His glamor of the demigod was in full effect. Again, he chuckled in spite of himself. "I guess I've vacationed in worse places then this." he whispered to no one in particular.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting his mind wonder through the void until he found the consciousness of his favored angel. Poor Castiel, he guessed he should at least give him fair warning of the visitor he and the Winchesters would be having.

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**A/N: So, this is my first go at a crossover between these two shows. Actually, a first for either show. Comments are greatly appreciated, so feel free to leave a review, ideas or I dunno... your phone number? Only if you're cute though :P Hope you enjoyed the first chappie.**


	2. Lone Hunt

Title: Tethered Redemption  
Author: Maqeurious  
Show/s: Supernatural/The Avengers Crossover  
Characters: Winchesters/Loki/Various

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**Lone Hunt**

**Chapter Two:**

"Sam?"

Dean spat a wad of blood onto the ground between his legs and rolled onto his knees. Under his skin, his bones creaked in protest as he hauled himself to his feet. His head was spinning, but he managed to stand without sinking to the floor again. Desperately, his eyes searched the filthy room he was in for any sign of Sam, but there was none. He took a shaky step forward, then another, shards of glass crunching under his boots as he made his way to the door. It was hanging off its hinges and swaying gently in a breeze that Dean couldn't feel. He furrowed his brow, something definitely felt off.

The room itself was suffocatingly small, with only one lone, small window that was too high to reach. Devoid of glass, which Dean had guessed was now strewn on the floor, it was barely big enough to fit a child through, let alone allow light to penetrate. If he tiptoed, he could make out the strong iron bars that blocked it, for whatever good that would do. The walls were stained with age, it's once vibrant blue hue now brown and water damaged. Parts of the stucco had come away in great sloughs, exposing the rotted wood below and giving the place a musty, damp aroma. It was cluttered with old, rusted machines, all pushed up against one of the collapsing walls and a rickety old bed whose threadbare mattress was just as dirty and caked with filth as the rest of the room. For the briefest moment, Dean could have sworn he had just been lying there. He took another scan of the room and it suddenly dawned on him, he couldn't remember what he was doing or even how he'd gotten here.

He wandered from the doorway and back into the room, going over in his mind the events that had led him to being here. The last thing he remembered clearly was going to sleep in his bed at the motel, but everything after that was just a hazy blur. Frantically, his hands delved into his jeans and fished out a keyring along with a thick, black marker. Pocketing the sharpie, he flipped the label of the keys over in his fingers to read the information, hoping it would prompt a memory. _Travel Lodge Motel, Fulton Missouri._ Missouri? Hadn't he just been in Colorado?

He was just about to pull out his phone when a voice from beyond the room caught his attention. It was muffled, but it was definitely calling out to him.

"Dean? Are you here?!"

He made for the door and stepped out into the hallway, taking the familiar weight of his shotgun into his hands, but it wasn't until he was halfway down the corridor that he actually questioned the weapon. It was his usual sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun loaded with salt rounds. Did that mean he was hunting a ghost?

"Dean! Oh god.. where are you?!"

The voice – a mans – was stricken with panic, and although something about it did seem vaguely familiar, his heart sank when he realized it didn't belong to Sam.

He continued down the hallway, making sure to step over and around the loose debris on the floor until he came to a door at the end. Leading with his shotgun, he entered. The room was only slightly bigger then the one he'd found himself in earlier, but was just as filthy and thick with the smell of mold.

"Hey..." he murmured, trying to keep his voice low, "you in here?"

"Dean? Oh thank god! Where have you been?!" In the far corner a mountain of old machinery tumbled to the ground, and out from behind it emerged a man. He was young and of asian decent. Mid 20s Dean guessed, and dressed in faded blue jeans and a black shirt. As soon as he saw Dean, he ran to him grabbing his arm. "Where is it? Did you get it?" he asked breathlessly.

Dean dropped his gaze to the hand wrapped around his arm and frowned. This guy, who ever he was, seemed to know him. And more importantly, he seemed to know what the hell was going on.

"Judging by your silence, I'm guessing that's a 'No' then." The man left his side, hurried to the door and pulled it closed. "Did you find out where it's remains are at least? I mean...that's what you're supposed to do, right?"

Dean shook his head, the confusion starting to irk him. "I... don't know. I can't remember." He finally said.

The man looked at him incredulously. "You can't...what?" Then his face fell, "Oh Christ, it got you too." It wasn't a question.

"Got me? What got me?!" Dean rushed the guy, making him back up against the wall. He was clearly afraid, bringing his hands up to protect himself and push Dean back, but having the shotgun between them and trained comfortably against his stomach wasn't helping. "The last thing I remember is going to sleep two states over, then waking up here," he growled. "Where the hell are we? Who are you? Where the hell is Sam?"

The man looked at him like he was a crazy person. "Who's Sam?" He managed to shuffle out from under Deans gun and move away. "Look, we gotta get outta here. That 'thing' might come back and I'd rather not be here when it does."

Dean hardly heard him. Instead, he was reeling from the guys reply. If he was here, then it only meant Sam was close-by. So, how could he not know him?

He grabbed the man by his elbow, "Look... guy..."

"Sawyer."

"Right... Sawyer. I think it's pretty obvious I've been windexed by something I came here to hunt. So what is it?"

Sawyer turned and moved to Deans side. "It's a...a kaku or buka or something. At least that's what you said."

Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut. His brows drew together as he flipped through the mental filing cabinet in his head. "Not buka," he said finally. "Baku. Baku are eaters of dreams and nightmares." _Damn it__._ At least he now knew why his memory was all messed up. When baku devoured dreams, they drank the essence of the person they were feeding on. Like a djinn, but in a more metaphysical sense. With no dreams, a persons mind couldn't recharge leaving the brain exhausted and hollow until it was drunk dry. The first side effect was memory loss. Baku were one of the main causes behind the 'lost time' theory of alien abductees. If only those poor saps knew the truth. At least djinn had the decency to put you in a fake dreamworld while they slowly murdered you.

"Yeah, yeah.. that's it." Sawyer was starting to pace back and forth. "You said that if you could find the remains and salt and burn them, it should kill it. Right?"

Dean was half listening again. Baku spirits were not like your average ghost. They weren't vengeful spirits or tulpas, or had unfinished business. They were actual, purpose-born spirits of flesh and blood. Humans couldn't become them after death, they were always just... there. Salting and burning their remains had no effect since they didn't have remains to begin with.

"What about you?" Dean asked, bringing himself back to the conversation. "What are you doing here? Did I.. bring you here?"

Sawyer shook his head, "No, not really. You really can't remember?"

Dean just stared at him, unamused.

"You came to me at the hospital, asking all these weird questions about David and Mike." He looked at Dean as if willing him to remember. "They were my work colleagues? They died two months apart after being admitted to the hospital with extreme exhaustion and no memory of the past year or so? You told me that whatever had caused their deaths was most likely going to cause mine too. You said this 'thing' has been feeding on me for at least a few weeks. You can't remember the last couple of days? Try not remembering the last four months."

A cold chill went through Dean then, making the hair on his neck stand on end. Somewhere deep down he did remember those names, but everything still felt a little off. Sawyer was back to pacing, his hands wringing at his side. He continued talking, but the sound seemed so far off and distant like he was speaking underwater.

Then out of know where, a flash so quick and intense shot through Deans head, knocking him back slightly. It was the image of an old, run-down hospital and he himself was laying on a bed. He turned, screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as another flash exploded behind them. It was like reliving the memories of Hell all over again. This time the images came like a flood. A man; cold and dead laying on a slab, his face old and tired even though he knew somehow the man was young. In another he was at the aftermath of an autopsy, in his hand a human brain that had shriveled to the size of a deflated tennis ball. Books laying open on a table, followed by what looked like braided pieces of paper. His fathers journal. Lastly, an image of a charm with what he recognized as japanese scrawl and embroidery. The images stopped just as quick as they had started. Automatically, his hand went up to his neck and fondled with the second strap there, pulling out from under his shirt the very same charm from his vision. He stuffed it back under and sighed, his stomach heaving. Again, the chill swept over him and he bent at the waist, hands planted on hips to catch his breath and settle his nausea.

"...you said you'd found out what it was and came here to kill it." Sawyer was finishing his story. "I was curious, so I followed you. It attacked us and I ran and hid in here. I don't know what happened to you." He shrugged, embarrassed. "Sorry."

Dean was sucking in gulps of air when Sawyer turned to face him. If he could lift his head, he wondered what reaction the man would have. What he could see though was Sawyers feet take a step towards him, and on instinct Dean backed up. He wasn't sure why, but deep down he knew it was the right thing to do.

"Hey...hey, Dean. You O.K?" Either Sawyer was whispering, or Deans ears were ringing so badly it just seemed like he was. "Maybe you should lie down man."

Maybe he should. Or take a knee at least. But again, Deans instincts told him not to let his guard down.

"I'm fine." He managed to get out, his voice strained. "I just need a minute." He took another few breaths and then straightened. In the back of his mind, the images taunted him. They were trying to tell him something; he was sure of it, but whatever it was remained tentatively out of reach.

"So, what do we do now?" Sawyer asked, "Do we try and kill this thing, or do we get outta here? I vote 'get outta here' by the way."

Dean disagreed. "That ain't an option. The baku is after both of us now, and I don't feel much like dying." _Again_. "But I... just can't help thinking there's something I'm missing." The not-knowing was grating on him. He was Dean Winchester, damn it. He wasn't stupid enough to let himself get caught by a baku unawares, especially knowing what they were capable of. If he was going to hunt this thing, he would at least...

His gaze went down to his shotgun. His _ghost_ gun. He wouldn't have brought it if he wasn't hunting a ghost. Then there was his motel key, clearly telling him he was in Missouri when he distinctly remembered being in Colorado. Having both of these items on him would have made him think, made him question. And when he started thinking, more pieces of the puzzle would start to tumble into place. His hand ghosted over the charm under his shirt. He had brought these items on purpose to help him remember when he knew he wouldn't be able to.

It hit him like a ton of bricks.

Sawyer told him they came here to find and burn the remains of the baku, but baku spirits didn't have remains. Dean knew this, at least the 'before' Dean did and he would have told Sawyer. So if they both knew there were no remains to find, then what the hell were they doing here? The thought gnawed at him, and the more he mulled it over, the quicker the mental wall that was blocking his memories crumbled. The sudden influx of memories almost made him keel over, but he had enough sense to level his shotgun and aim it at Sawyer. He was standing absolutely still, his eyes shifting between Dean and his gun. For a brief moment, Dean thought Sawyer was going to go into some sort of innocent tirade. To his surprise though, he smiled.

"Ah damn it," Sawyer purred, "and here I was hoping to play with you for a little while longer." Sawyer leapt then, arms outstretched and hands curled into claws. He hit Dean with speed and force, pushing them both to the floor. As they went down together in a heap, Sawyer managed to knock the gun to the side, climb on top of him and straddle his legs. "Seriously Dean, your dreams are unlike anything I have ever tasted before. So full of despair and darkness." He leaned in close, his whispers a hairs breadth from Deans ear. "Those snippets of Hell make your brain plump with delicious juices, did you know?" Then he did something that made Dean physically gag. He ran his tongue along Deans temple and across his forehead; tasting him, savoring him – leaving a cold, sticky trail of saliva in its wake.

Dean struggled like he'd never struggled before, trying to dislodge the creature from his chest, but a knee to his solar plexus stifled him pretty quickly.

"Easy now." Sawyers eyes were dark with anger. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've given me these last few days? I've fed from you twice already, but you always seem to end up trying to kill me. But your dreams Dean, they're just much too delicious. I can't get enough."

Sawyer met him face to face. He could feel the spirits breath on his lips. "Don't worry you son of a bitch, I'm going to kill you good and proper this time."

"You couldn't before!" Sawyer howled with laughter. "You tried already! You think this silly little gun is going to kill me? Who do you think I am? I'm not your run-of-the-mill beastie. You can't kill me, Dean! I've told you all this before!" He slammed his knee into Dean again. "Why don't you just let me do what I do best, hmm? Over time, I could take away all of those memories that haunt you. Hell. The apocalypse. Poor Sammy and his numerous... _numerous_ evils." He grinned wide. "Oh yes, I've seen the dreams you have of being forced to kill your own brother. I could free you from all of that."

To the side, Dean was reaching for his shotgun. He could feel the metal of the barrel and he curled the tips of his fingers around it, inching it closer. "I'll pass thanks," he sneered. "Like them or not, they're mine, you bastard." He swung his arm with all the strength he could muster, slamming his fist into the side of Sawyers face. It stunned him enough to give Dean the seconds needed to grab his shotgun. He shoved the end into Sawyers chest and fired, the explosion making his ears ring. Charred salt spray rained down on him. Sawyer was blown into the ether for now, but he would be back. There wasn't much time.

Dean scrambled to his knees. He remembered everything. He remembered the articles that brought him here in the first place, interviewing the family members and how they led him to Sawyer. His first attempts at killing him which ultimately led to him being a victim himself. That was only slightly embarrassing, but nothing a few glasses of whiskey won't soon erase. He pulled the marker out of his pocket and starting drawing on the floor. Sawyer was all kinds of wrong, baku could be killed – if you knew how.

"How many times do we have to go through this same routine?" When Dean looked up, a swift kick to his chin sent him spinning. "You think a binding circle can hold me?" Again his boot met Deans face. "I've told you time and again, you can't kill me, Dean!" A fist to the jaw.

Dean was reeling. He could taste the tang of blood in his mouth and a sting of pain where his lip had split. Things like this were always so much easier when you had back-up. But he had to stick it out, for just a little longer. Until he was close enough.

"You know, I could smell your angst long before I laid eyes on you. I could tell from the first time I saw you there was a feast in there." Sawyer grabbed Dean around the throat and lifted him lazily to his feet, hissing as he spoke. "I knew that in here," he said, pushing a finger into the hunters forehead, "there were nightmares. I would take you from your bed in the dead of night and bring you here so I could have you all to myself. For hours. I could have killed you ten times over by now, but the game was just... much too fun. Every time I let you go, you came running back like a good little boy. Almost as if you wanted to be here. As if you wanted me to cleanse you of these nightmares and awful, awful memories. And I could, Dean. I can give you what you want. Dreamless sleep and a chance to start over. You could forget being a hunter, forget going to Hell. Forget little Sammy and the poison that runs in his veins. You could have a new life. Sure, it won't last long, depending on how often I feed from you, but it will be a life with no demons, no angels. No apocalypse. Just quiet and peaceful. And all yours."

Dean smirked despite the hand clutching his windpipe. He pushed himself close into Sawyer, making him take a step backwards. "That was your first mistake," he spat. "You should have killed me when you had the chance. Every time you let me go, I was able to find out more and more about you and your filthy kind." _Another step_. "Every time I tried to kill you and failed, only made me more determined. But I always remembered eventually, especially after all the clues I left for myself." _Another step_. "Salt didn't work. No bones to burn. The knife? Nothing. But I have learned a lil' something." _One more step should do it._ "Yes, baku are spirits, but after they feed they're just as flesh and blood as I am now. Call it a quirk, or just... bad design. Either way, it doesn't last long. But I'm guessing since I can actually touch you right now... you siphoned a little of my awesomeness only recently – which, by the way is a little rapey." _Perfect, right on target. _ "So I'm guessing, since I can touch you... I can kill you."

In an instant, Dean lashed out, using Sawyers outstretched arm as leverage and kicked him in the kneecaps. There was the sickening crunch of bone, which Dean thought was just plain odd for a ghost, and Sawyer fell to one side. Dean followed, swinging his gun around to use as a club and brought it down on the spirits face again and again. His breath was coming in wet, ragged gasps now, the butt of his shotgun caked with blood and tufts of hair. Every time he raised it though, Sawyer looked up at him with a maniacal grin on what was left of his face.

"Dean...it's no use." He was laughing; a choking, gurgling laughter that was thick with blood. "Hit me all you want... it's no use."

"Oh I know precious. That was just for all the bad touching," he growled, finally sitting up and unsheathing the demons knife, "and I know this blade won't kill you. But it will open you up." Then he slammed the knife down into Sawyers chest and sliced him in one swift motion all the way to his stomach. There was so much blood, but it was the smell that caught Dean off guard. He'd smelt death and decay before, it was an occupational hazard when you did what he did, but this was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was like raw, decomposing organs and sulfur mixed with burnt hair and flesh. When he opened his mouth to speak again, he had to fight the urge to throw up.

"You see where you are?" he asked, motioning to the circle drawn crudely on the floor now surrounding them, "I know now on it's own it won't hold you. But it will with this." The second he pulled the japanese embroidered charm out from under his shirt, Sawyer cursed. His eyes widened and he struggled under Deans weight, but the hunter was too heavy and too quick. He ripped the charm from this neck and with a cry, pushed it into Sawyers opened cavity and left it there.

Sawyer screamed, his body convulsing in a way that a proper human body just couldn't physically achieve. His screams were visceral, also inhuman. Dean backed up on his knees to watch the spectacle.

"You can't move now, can you." He stood, but kept Sawyers churning body between his feet. "It took me a while to figure it out, but I did. Binding circle powered by a omikuji charm. Only these two things together can ground your spirit. I gotta give it to you man, you really had me stumped on this one." He raised his shotgun and aimed it at Sawyers flailing head. "Oh, and just so you know. It's Sam to you, not Sammy, you giant dick." He fired, blowing Sawyers head into chunks. He only just managed to step back in time before the rest of his body shimmered and burned, turning to ash, leaving nothing but a puddle of blood and scorch marks on the floor.

Not wanting to stay longer then needed, he let out a final resigned sigh and left the building hoping to find at least some measure of comfort in his impala. He didn't need to look for Sam. He knew he wasn't here. He remembered that too, now. He'd told Sam to leave in Colorado and hadn't heard from him since.

By the time he'd arrived back at his motel, the stench of his bloodied clothes had given him a throbbing headache. He needed a shower, and a laundry mat. Or a furnace. Which ever he came across first.

The drive back had been quiet, as had most of his travels in the past week. Without Sam driving shotgun, it felt like the life had been sucked out of the vehicle. But he'd had no choice. He was pissed with his little brother. He loved him, but the betrayal was too much. He couldn't trust him anymore, and that hurt more then anything. One of the major downsides was knowing that hunting solo was surely going to be the death of him. He only had to look back at this particular hunt to see the truth of the matter. Dean was a great hunter. One of – if not – the best he knew of. But it was always best in pairs, and he and Sam were the pair that rivaled all others. Dean wasn't ignorant, he knew Sam was the brains behind their hunts. He was the analytical thinker, the one that could find facts and lore in the darkest and most obscure places on the web. Dean was more the muscle. He was tough, ruthless. Born to fight dirty, kill quickly and efficiently. Sure, Dean could do the _'groundwork'_, and Sam could definitely do the _'legwork'_, but their strengths were obvious. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with. He couldn't help but think how quickly the baku would have been taken down if Sam was here. It was thoughts like that that made Dean hurt all the more. He wanted Sam with him, but he didn't. He wanted to trust him, but he couldn't. At least, not yet.

Making sure not to get too much blood on his precious interior, Dean exited the impala, exchanged his shotgun in favor for a smaller glock from the trunk and tiredly made his way to his motel room. It wasn't until he was inside with the door closed and locked he felt himself actually relax. Everything was still where he had left it. Research scattered on the table, old food containers and wrappers strewn around the full garbage bin. His favorite skin mag peeking out from under his pillow. On heavy legs, he made his way towards the small bathroom, peeling off first his bloodied jacket, then tee-shirt. He stood in front of the mirror and grimaced at what he saw. His face was cut and bruised, his lips swollen. Sweat and blood mussed his hair. Mottled bruises were beginning to form on his chest and torso, and those were clear strangle marks around his neck. He looked like hell warmed over. His gaze went to his mark at his shoulder, that clear defined hand-print courtesy of his angelic friend. He hadn't called for Cas either tonight. Or any other night for that matter. Much like Sam, he couldn't deal with Cas right now. Besides, he was busy with Heaven or God, or whatever hair-brained scheme he had come up with to help in the fight against Lucifer. Either way, they weren't really on the same page right now. He could sort out his beef with Cas later.

As if reading his mind, when Dean was about to turn the shower on he heard the sound he was fearing. The unmistakable flutter of feathers from outside the bathroom that signaled the arrival of a confrontation he just wasn't ready for. He sighed, leaning against the basin to gather whatever little strength he had left before making his way out.

"Cas, now isn't really a good time..."

But there was no Cas. There was no trench-coat cladded angel waiting for him when he exited the bathroom. Instead, sitting precariously on the edge of his unmade motel bed was an odd, slightly confused looking man with shoulder length dark hair and eyes greener then his own. Instinctively, Dean reached for the gun holstered in the back of jeans and aimed it squarely at the intruders head.

"Who are you, and how did you get in here?!"

The man met his eyes, a smile curving to one side. Dean felt his chest tighten as they stared at each other. Then the man spoke.

"Your God is a fool."

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**A/N: So, this chapter is a little longer then I was going for. There is one thing you should know about my style of writing. I'm a description junkie making me my own worst enemy. I just can't help it. I apologize. Also, my take on the Baku spirits (from japanese lore) are a mixture from original lore, a Fringe episode and just plain gobbledygook I made up. I hope it's not too 'holey', lol. Anyway, this is an introduction chapter to Dean for the most part. Also, one more thing. I've kind of mixed up the timelines (on purpose) between the events of The Avengers and Supernatural. I needed a place in the Supernatural series where Dean was alone, (_you know how the boys like to part ways sometimes_), Castiel was still an angel and Lucifer was still topside. 10 points to anyone who can tell when this part of my fic takes place _(after which episode :P_) As before, read and review. Ideas? Anything.**


	3. Tethered

Title: Tethered Redemption  
Author: Maqeurious  
Show/s: Supernatural/The Avengers Crossover  
Characters: Winchesters/Loki/Various

* * *

**Tethered**

**Chapter Three:**

"Excuse me?"

Dean didn't know if he had heard right. _Did this guy just say that God was a fool?_ Far be it from him to argue the point though. He'd never met God himself, but with recent events he had to figure that the Almighty was acting pretty foolish lately. OK, maybe not foolish as much as absent, but he sure as hell wasn't making things any easier on the older Winchester.

He took a step towards the bed, brandishing the glock as intimidation, but the stranger just stared back at him. His eyes flittered between the gun and Dean, but the smirk never left his face.

"Oh, forgive me," he said dryly. "I wasn't aware I had stuttered. Or perhaps it is that your plebeian brain can not comprehend the words I am speaking. Shall I draw you a picture? Maybe you have a cave wall handy, which wouldn't be surprising considering the state of this...grotto." He stood then, making a slow turn to inspect the room before facing Dean again. "I was merely stating how much of a fool your God is."

Deans eyes widened in disbelief. He'd dealt with his fair share of cocky monsters and arrogant demons, but this guy ranked right up there on his aggravation meter. That in itself was an impressive feat considering not thirty seconds had elapsed since the guy had first opened his mouth.

"Yeah, I got that part pal," he said through gritted teeth, "but that doesn't answer my question. You got five seconds to tell me who you are and what you want." Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the demons knife among the clothes he'd tossed onto the small table and inched his way towards it. "Consider yourself lucky I'm not in the shoot first, ask questions later mood, especially after the day I've had."

"And why should I tell you, midgardian?" The stranger said coolly. He took a single step towards Dean, his gaze never once lowering to the weapon that was now point blank against his torso. Instead, he caught Deans eyes with his own. But the hunter refused to back down, returning the stare with just as much determination. "Who are you to demand such a request from me?" he continued. "You. Are. Nothing. Not in the grand scheme of things anyway. You and your kind who wallow in your own simplicity and diminished intelligence could not possibly comprehend the greatness that stands before you. How foolish of your creator to think that by sending me here I could actually learn something from you fumbling barbarians. The very thought makes me laugh, derisively. Your kind begs for someone like me, human. Someone who can rule over you, save you from your own stupidity and free you from your own deluded idea of -"

Deans fist flew through the air. It landed with a thud to the side of the mans chin, making him tumble back and fall against the bed again. Dean discarded his gun and was on the demons knife in seconds. He rounded the bed, climbed on top and brought it to bare against the mans throat.

"Even for a demon, you talk too much!" He pushed the blade tip down until it broke the skin. Drops of bright red blood seeped from the cut, but that was all. No red shimmering, no pulsing bursts of energy. Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm going to ask you one more time and I don't wanna hear any long winded speeches. Who are you?!"

The amusement that once played across the mans eyes was now gone. He looked up to capture Deans gaze and sneered through his teeth. "I am Loki of Asgard, you miserable cur. I am a God! You should prostrate yourself before me."

Dean met his sneer. "A god, huh?" he growled. "Well, not for nothing, but you won't be the first god I've had to put down." He raised the knife then. In the back of his mind, Dean knew the demons blade would have no effect on a god. These damned beings always had fancy and intricate ways of being dispatched. But all of his gear was in the trunk of the impala and out of reach. He had to stall for time. So if using the knife could grant him the moments needed to get to the car, then he had to at least try. On the other hand, it could just piss the god off more, and Deans short yet colorful life would be extinguished in mere seconds.

Screw it, the adrenaline was already pumping and who was Dean to turn down a fight.

He brought the knife down, just missing Loki's head when the god shifted to the side and rolled. Loki bucked his hips and Dean tumbled off the bed and onto the floor, taking the disorientated man beneath him along. They wrestled over the knife, each reaching for it desperately. With a grunt, Dean managed to climb back onto his knees, one hand grasped firmly on the hilt of the knife, and the other curled into a fist. He swung again, aiming for Loki's face, but this time the god was ready. He blocked with his free arm, swiping Dean's nose hard with an open palm as he did. The hunter saw stars, but before he could regain his bearings, a blinding punch to his torso made him double over. All breath was knocked from his lungs, and he fell to the floor beside Loki. He lost his grip on the knife, a mistake he knew was going to cost him. There was nothing to do but wait for the killing strike to come.

He waited with bleary eyes for that attack. He waited for what seemed like minutes, but it never came. When his vision cleared enough, he turned to Loki and was surprised by what he saw. The god was doubled over, clutching at his stomach as if he'd been punched just as hard as Dean had. The knife was lying between them, unclaimed. Without a second thought he dove on it, aimed for Loki's midsection and buried it in his stomach, up to the hilt. Dean didn't know what he was expecting to happen. He certainly wasn't expecting fireworks, or flames or some elaborate spontaneous explosion. The knife couldn't kill Loki, he knew that already. But he sure as hell didn't expect what happened next. When he went to pull the knife out from Loki's gut, it was gone. And not only was it gone, but there was no wound to be seen. The knife had just... disappeared.

Dean did a double take, scanning the floor around Loki's splayed out body for the blade thinking he had dropped it. The god too, he noticed, seemed just as confused. Loki clutched at his worn shirt, lifting it so he could run a slender hand across his torso convinced he was going to find a gaping wound there. When he lifted his gaze and met Deans equally perplexed expression, he froze. They both did.

"That's enough, Dean."

The hunter turned just as Castiel was reaching out and grabbing his arm, pulling him up off Loki and bringing him to his feet. He stood stoic beside Dean but never once let his attention shift from the god on the floor. In his hand, was the knife.

"Cas, what the hell man!" Dean said, almost out of breath. "What did you do?"

"This blade will not work against a demigod, Dean. You should know this." Castiel's matter-of-fact tone was as droll as ever.

"Yeah genius, I know. So why don't you be helpful, lay your hands on and get rid of this douche." When Castiel inclined his head and finally met Dean's gaze, the hunters face fell slightly. There was something about the angels iron stare that could always stop Dean dead in his tracks. "Please?" He tacked on at the end with a wry grin.

Castiel sighed, his expression softening. "I can't," he said, turning his attention to Loki once again. "as much as I'd like to. I have received orders from heaven concerning this... man."

"I am a god, you winged ape!" Loki blustered as he crawled to his feet. He stood a head taller then Castiel, but Dean only just now noticed that his presence was just as iron. The two stared at each other, neither one of them daring to blink. "Your father sends you here to ensure my leash is intact, does he not? Well let me make it clear... angel, I am not so easily controlled. Not by my father, and certainly not by yours." Loki lifted his arm. He might not have his scepter anymore, or even his dagger, but what were physical weapons when you had magic at your fingertips? Envisioning a volley of ice shards, Loki flung open his hand and fired directly at Castiel.

The angel barely batted an eyelid.

Loki frowned and extended his fingers again, willing his magic to come, but no matter how much he concentrated, nothing happened. "I don't understand," he mumbled, mostly to himself. "This usually works." Taking his hand back, he willed himself to teleport – only to find this power too was suppressed.

Castiel stood deadpan. He hadn't moved an inch, but he also never let his gaze fall, as if he were watching Loki like a hawk. "I think you'll find you have been cut off from your abilities, at the behest of your father as one of the terms of your punishment."

"My father doesn't have the power to -"

"No, but mine does."

Loki hesitated, then growled in frustration. He turned his back on the pair and started to pace, muttering curses under his breath. Dean watched with slight amusement, before he reigned it back in and realized he had no idea what the hell was going on.

"So, does anyone feel like filling me in here? Cas? A little enlightenment if you would." When Castiel didn't answer, he pulled on the angels lapel until he faced him. "Hey, I'm talking to you."

"His name is Loki, he's an asgardian."

"Asgardian? What the hell is that, some kinda cheese?"

"No, of course not. Loki is of Asgard, one of the nine realms. He is a demigod, son of Odin and brother to Thor. You may have already heard the name before, Dean. He is more colloquially known as the god of mischief. The original trickster."

Dean almost keeled over. "A trickster?! You gotta be kidding me."

"No Dean, not _a_ trickster, _the_ trickster. He is the legend that tricksters are derived from." He turned to Dean and sighed, tiredness showing in his clear, blue eyes. "I should explain."

And he did. He carefully laid out to Dean the origins of Asgard, the existence of the nine realms and where Loki fit into that world. Where they all did. Dean listened earnestly, every now and then exasperated by what he heard, but he never once interrupted Castiel until he finished. Taking in all this new information would turn a lesser man into a blubbering mess, but Dean was no ordinary man.

Once Castiel had finished, he turned his attention back to Loki. The demigod had stopped his pacing, and was now perched back on the edge of the bed. He was studying is hands, no doubt upset about his lack of magic.

"I should also mention the part he played in the destruction of New York some months ago."

That stopped Dean dead in his tracks. He'd heard a lot about the invasion on New York from Sam. His brother had shown him various articles and video from that time, and Dean had studied them with great interest. The alien species, which to this day he refused to believe despite the damning evidence, was absurd. Wasn't it enough they had angels and demons and the apocalypse to deal with? Now there were aliens, of all things, being thrown into the mix? But if aliens weren't absurd enough, there was the group that fought against them. The Avengers, they called themselves. Dean had laughed until tears formed when Sam told him about them. Granted, they had saved the city and won the day, and kudos to them, but all Dean could focus on in the end was the outfits. The _Captain America _guy most of all. Oh no, know matter how many times the Winchesters would save the day...it'd be a cold day in hell before either brother would be caught dead in what Dean could only guess was a leotard. However, that wasn't to say he didn't find some boyish enjoyment in the one called Iron Man. That, both of the brothers had agreed, was pretty damn cool.

Sam had explained his fleeting desire to head to New York to help, but on careful consideration decided against it. He had more important things to think about. Namely, Lilith. Sam wasn't a superhero. He didn't have special powers, at least none that would work against aliens. His battle wasn't with invaders from another planet, it was here on Earth with demons and monsters. So he'd told Dean that he took Ruby's advice, left the aliens to those better suited to deal with them, and continued on his path of gaining his own strength to take down Lilith. He'd had no choice. Dean was in Hell, after all.

It took him a minute or two to realize where he'd seen this so-called god before. Scenes from the fight in New York and Stuttgart were coming back to him. "Do you mean to tell me that this guy is that Loki? The one with the antlers?" He made the motion of large horns from his head, while gaping wide-eyed at Castiel. "He's_ that_ nutcase?!"

"Yes."

"And he's still walking around here with his head?"

"So it would seem."

"Why?!"

"Why shouldn't I?" Loki growled, finally speaking up. "I was doing you all a favor. I would have been a just ruler -"

"Is he kidding me?" Dean asked, only to get a blank stare in return. He turned to Loki, stepping forward to yank on the front of his shirt. He lifted the surprised god to his feet and shoved him into the wall. They struggled against each other, but Dean was running on renewed adrenaline and anger. "Well, you just popped into the wrong room, buddy. I've put down monsters for less."

"Release me, you neanderthal. Who do you think you are?!"

"Oh, I'm the last thing you'll ever see." The two fell into it again, each pushing and shoving the other until they were a tangled mess of limbs on the floor. They both fought for dominance, but it was Loki who managed to get the upper hand this time, until Castiel stepped in and broke them apart.

Loki shrugged off the angels grip and stumbled towards the motel door, never taking his eyes off the hunter who was still crumbled at Castiel's feet. He had to get out of here. He might not have his magic right now, but at least he would have his freedom. With a last glare, he swung the door open and fled.

Dean was about to give chase when Castiel's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "It's alright, Dean. He won't get far. Besides, I haven't told you the reason why he's here."

"There's a _reason_ he's here? Shouldn't he be... I dunno, locked up or something? I thought his old man was the King of Aftgard or whatever. He's like.. a war criminal isn't he? Jail, execution... the whole nine yards? Or do the space gods not care about us mere mortals either?"

"It's Asgard, and yes. He was imprisoned, but it seems he has been granted a chance at redemption." He helped Dean to his feet. It was only then he noticed just how beaten and bruised, and shirtless the hunter was. "You look like hell by the way."

Dean looked at him with a wry sneer. "Yeah. Thanks." He picked through his rumpled up clothing and pulled on his bloodied tee-shirt. "So, what's he doing here then?"

"God." Castiel said simply. "God sent him here. To you."

"What?" Dean felt his stomach churn. "What do you mean 'sent him to me'? Like a gift? Well throw him back, I don't want him!"

"I received revelation, Dean. He told me that He freed Loki from his cell and sent him to earth as penance for the crimes he committed here. He's been placed in your charge as a condition of his release and punishment."

"Placed in my charge?!" It took everything in him to not scream in frustration, but his stomach was flipping again. "Why me? What am I supposed to do with him?"

"He is here to help you." Castiel covered the meager distance between them and lightly touched the hunter on the forehead, healing him of his wounds. "Loki once sought to bring destruction to Earth, Dean. He raised an army and brought them here, remember. He hates humans. He wanted to rule over them."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, and where were you and your angel buddies in _that_ fight by the way? Aliens invade the damn planet, and not one angel tries to stop it?"

"We were needed elsewhere, for more important things." The dark look that clouded Castiel's face didn't need interpreting. They were too busy storming Hell, to bust him out. "Besides, your 'Avengers' had things covered." The eye-roll didn't escape Deans attention.

"Lemme get this straight. Loki rains E.T's on New York, gets his ass thoroughly kicked by the super squad and now what... he suddenly becomes _my_ problem? Send him to them! Is this punishment for him, or me? What the hell did_ I_ do?"

"His punishment is to live as a human and save the people he once tried to kill. His powers as a god, as a... trickster... have been suppressed until he can earn them back. To prove himself, God has placed him in your hands. He will help you and fight at your side until his father calls for his return to Asgard. Loki will do as he is asked. He _will_ obey you, Dean. He has no choice."

"Do _I_ have a choice?"

"No."

"Why the hell not!?"

"Because it's what God wants. I'm afraid he's stuck with you until commanded otherwise."

"Well, that's just peachy! My own personal, magically impotent god who just so happens to be a complete lunatic. How can this get any worse!"

This time, when Dean's stomach turned, it felt like knives. The suddenness of it caused his legs to buckle, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes to his knees. Castiel was at his side in moments, kneeling beside him and taking the hunter's shuddering form by the shoulder. He asked what was wrong, but Dean was in too much pain to reply. The stabbing sensation was spreading quickly. First shooting down his legs and then his arms, turning them to jelly. He was clutching his chest, ragged breath coming in hitched sobs. He growled through gritted teeth against Castiel who was trying to lay his hands on him in an effort to take his pain, but for some reason it wasn't working.

"Cas...please..."

"I'm trying!" Castiel's panicked voice sounded strange to his own ears.

Dean fell forward and let out an inhuman scream. It felt like nails inside of him, scratching and clawing his skin from the inside out, shredding him to ribbons. His stomach heaved, and he thought he was going to vomit. The acrid bile burned in the back of his throat, but no matter how much he wanted to stand and make it to the bathroom or kitchen sink, every move he made only served to intensify the pain. Sweat was pouring from his brow and streaming down his face to mix with the fresh tears that he couldn't seem to stem.

"What's happening to -" He gagged before the rest of sentence passed his lips, retching violently instead. Although nothing came out, he couldn't stop.

Castiel could do nothing but watch in agony. Dean was squirming and groaning in a contorted pile on the floor, cursing through teary eyes for help, when something caught his eye. It was red and thin, shimmering like dew covered silk. It seemed to fade in and out of existence, so Castiel wasn't even sure if it was real at first. But when Dean heaved again, his body convulsing against the motels dingy, stained carpet, he saw it again and gasped. It was there, but it also wasn't. It wasn't a touchable, physical thing – but immaterial – and it was wrapped like invisible, fragile twine around Dean's entire body. Castiel's eyes bulged as the tumblers in his head fell into place, and he instantly grabbed the pained hunter and willed himself out of the room. When they reappeared, they were in a dark alleyway a block away from the motel. It was raining heavily now, but through the deluge he found who he was looking for. A few feet away, was Loki.

Castiel wanted to be wrong, but what he saw shattered that hope. Loki was also on his knees and doubled over against an upturned garbage bin. He was soaking wet and filthy from dragging along the ground, his moss green shirt and dark pants clinging to him like a second skin. His bare feet were soiled and covered in tiny cuts and scratches. Over the sound of the thunderous rain, he could hear Loki's groans. Just like Dean, he was in some sort of pain.

"Cas... what the hell...?" Dean was still on his knees, tugging on Castiel's pant leg trying to regain his footing. He was about to help him up, when the thread became visible again. It's shining red presence drew a faint line in the air. He followed it with his eyes as it wound it's way around Dean and along the ground, straight to Loki's side. It was pooled at his feet, shimmering like a beacon. Castiel did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed Dean's heavy weight and shoved him forward. The hunter fell in an unsightly jumble on top of Loki with a grunt. Then Castiel just stood there, and watched.

As the string disappeared, the two men on the ground seemed to change. They pushed and shoved at each other, but Castiel's sensitive ears could hear their breathing come under control, and sense the sting of their pain ebb. He shook his head and sighed, lifting his gaze to the sky, thinking.

"Get off me you overgrown monkey!" Loki was scrambling to his feet, but just as he did, Dean tried to do the same. They fell over each other, the rain slicked ground making them both lose their balance. They looked like a pair of newborn fawns trying to walk for the first time. When they finally came apart, they were on their knees and facing one another.

Dean quickly patted himself down, running his hands over his chest and torso, then down each arm. He looked up at Castiel with a confused look on his face, before turning to Loki. He too, looked just as puzzled.

"What the hell was that?!" he said, his voice raising. "I thought... it felt like my insides suddenly wanted to be my outsides!"

"You too?" Loki also seemed concerned with testing the use of his limbs again. "I was just walking and then..." he shrugged, "...and then I just, wasn't. Couldn't."

"And now?" Castiel asked the two as they eyed each other suspiciously. "How do you feel now?"

"Cold, and wet. But I'm not about to puke my guts out if that's what you're asking, Cas!"

"I appear... fine, also."

Castiel nodded, it was just as he suspected. He leaned down to touch both of the men on the shoulder and willed them back to Dean's motel room. They were soaked through – all three of them – but he could take care of that in a moment.

"Listen guys," he started. "I think I know what happened. I'm also guessing this is another term of Loki's punishment, just like having his magic sealed." He turned to Loki. "It's a sort of fail safe, I guess you could say to ensure you don't run away or escape. It's actually very rare and used only in the most extreme cases of destiny, though I've never seen it used in circumstances like this before."

"Seen _what_ used like this?" Dean asked, giving in to his exhaustion. "What are you blabbering about, Cas?"

"You two... the both of you... are connected by the red string of fate. God has tethered you, bound you together. If you ever try to leave each other, the further you get, the sicker you will become. Until..."

"Until? I don't like _until._.."

Castiel sighed sadly, regret clear on his face. "All I can say is get used to each other, because as of now – you two will stay together, or you will die."

* * *

**A/N: Please remember to review :D They make me very happy and spout rainbows from my eyeballs when I see them.**

** Piki: Well done, 10 points to you my dear :D Yes, the last chapter took place after the events in 5X02, when Dean tells Sam to hit the bricks. These next couple of chapters will explore what happens in the time they are apart (actually just Dean and Loki), before they are reunited again after 5X04 or 'The End' episode.**


	4. Burdened

Title: Tethered Redemption  
Author: Maqeurious  
Show/s: Supernatural/The Avengers Crossover  
Characters: Winchesters/Loki/Various

* * *

**Burdened**

**Chapter Four:**

"Are... are you freaking serious?!"

Dean was beside himself. He could feel the back of his neck prickle and burn with rage. His mind went back and he briefly remembered all the times he'd ever been angry. Like, when his father sold his soul. Or when those crazy hill folk kidnapped Sam. When Gordon had tried to kill them. Or Bela? Oh, how he hated Bela. But _this_? This was much worse. This felt like a violation.

He stood and turned to face Castiel. The angel was clearly taken aback by the news himself, but Dean was in no mood for niceties now.

"Well, you get your feathery ass back up there and tell dear old dad I ain't slumming it with no monster!" he yelled, trying to catch Castiel's eyes but failing. "The guy's deranged, Cas! What's to stop him from doing me in in my sleep?!"

Loki blustered, also standing and falling in beside Dean to face him. "Or vice versa," he countered. "How do I know he won't try to kill me where I lie?"

"Yeah, because you should be so lucky." Dean turned to Loki now, standing nose to nose with the demigod until they were staring each other down once again. "When I kill you, and buddy... you can guarantee I will... you'll see it coming. I promise."

Loki frowned, a tic starting in his jaw. "I see your mouth moving, yet all I can hear is your knees knocking and fear in your voice."

"Oh that ain't fear buddy... that's anger. I'm pissed."

"Well you certainly smell like it."

It only took seconds for the testosterone to erupt.

Dean threw himself at Loki, taking a wild swing at his head. It flew past into the empty air as the demigod ducked and skirted to Dean's right. He wobbled on his feet as his punch rounded, but Loki had already jumped him from behind before he could react. The added weight on his back made him tumble forward, slamming his chest first into the wall. His curses were muffled, having your face planted into the drywall would do that. The taller man was quick, he'd give him that. He was all limbs and gangly, much like Sam.

Loki brought his arms up and locked them around Dean's neck. He could hear Loki's heavy breathing in his ear, the sensation making his skin shiver with goose flesh. Out of desperation, he reached back over his head and grabbed the first thing he could find – a mass of wet, tangled hair. He pulled. Hard. If it wasn't for the fact that he was eating the motel wall right now, he would have laughed. If someone had told the hunter he would be resorting to pulling a mans hair to win a fight, he'd have told them they were going crazy. Thankfully there was no one around to see, bar Castiel of course, but the angel didn't gossip. Dean had a reputation to keep, whether he actually won the fight or not.

Loki yelped as his head was yanked forward, the flesh of his nose meeting the back of Dean's head with a crunch. He swayed in a daze, the pain shooting out and straight to his temples, causing a wash of tears to cloud his vision. He staggered backwards, bringing a hand back up to wipe what felt like blood dripping over his lips. Dean took the opportunity to pivot his waist and swing back with his elbow with force, and tried to hit Loki again while he was still disorientated. It glanced Loki's chin, but the momentum carried through, and Dean found himself now with his back to the wall and face to face with the demigod.

Suddenly, Loki's hands were around Dean's throat. But as soon as he squeezed, Loki's eyes bulged and he hesitated. He ripped his hands away like they were on fire.

"That's enough, both of you!"

Castiel's voice boomed, something even Dean hadn't heard before. It was so commanding, it caused both of the brawling men to abruptly come to a stop and look at him. The angel was frowning at them, his sharp, blue eyes intense and slightly glowing. He stepped in between them, pushing them apart with more strength then he intended. Dean was shoved back into the wall, while Loki almost went ass over tit onto the bed. He headed to the demigod first, towering over him and glaring at him like a lion stalking prey.

"Loki," he snapped, an edge to his tone, "I could care less about you or the petty squabbles you have with your brother and father. So, you feel slighted by your lineage and the fact that it was kept from you. You're angry because you lived in the shadow of _one_ sibling your entire life, all the while living as a prince and having everything that that entails. Well, cry me a river!"

He was practically yelling now, his hands wringing at his sides. "You're not the only one who has family problems. You're not _special_. And yet, you think you can come here, step outside of your realm and try to claim a title that was not - nor ever will be - yours?"

Castiel lurched forward, all understanding of 'close personal space' abandoned. He was so close, he could see the reflection of himself in Loki's startled eyes. "Your arrogance and self entitlement offends me. If it wasn't for the fact that God put you here, I would destroy you myself."

After pausing a moment to let the threat sink in, he turned on his heel and approached the hunter. Dean tried sinking even deeper into the hard surface at his back, and when that failed he willed himself invisible. There was a wildness to the way Castiel was advancing on him.

"And you!" He shoved his finger at Dean, pointing to him accusingly. "If you had stopped your brother like you were supposed to, the apocalypse wouldn't be happening right now. You may have broken the first seal, but the last one could've been easily avoided."

Castiel started to pace. "I told you to stop him, but you were out maneuvered by a demon. He chose her, over you. You failed, and now we will all pay the price. I know it's not all your fault, but you aren't totally without blame. If you had kil.."

Dean instantly felt his hackles rise in anger. "If you say I should've killed Sam, I'll punch you in the mouth, Cas. Broken hand or not."

Normally, when Castiel went all 'angel' on the two Winchesters, they knew when to back off. He was a celestial being, for christs sake. Angels could do things to the brothers with a mere thought that would curdle the stomachs of the most hardened men if they wanted to. Oh sure, he could tell Zachariah to kiss his ass and not bat and eye or care in the slightest what happened to him. That particular flavor of douche was a dime a dozen, and if he found his insides leaking from his orifices, at least he'd get in a last 'screw you' before he rode the pine box. But Castiel was different, because_ he_ was different. Dean knew that he, most of all, took liberties with Castiel in terms of his attitude. He would still give him lip, but he always backed off if deep down he knew he was wrong.

Except when it came to Sam. Bad mouthing Sam was like kryptonite, and he'd be damned if even Castiel went that far.

As if reading his mind, Castiel's face softened, seeming to realize he'd crossed the line. It eased Dean somewhat, but he still stood on guard as the angel continued to speak.

"You asked before why you were being punished with this situation, well that's why. But God wouldn't have sent him here if He didn't think you couldn't handle it. Besides, he's without magic and just as human as you are. Between you and Sam, I believe you have it covered."

It wasn't until now that Castiel took the liberty to take in his surroundings. He looked confused. "Where is Sam, by the way?"

Dean started, then quipped in a low voice. "We're... taking separate vacations for a while." Sensing that the tension had lessened for the moment, he wondered to the kitchen table and took a much needed seat. "You haven't answered my question though. What's to stop us from doing each other in? Don't get me wrong, I'm used to sleeping with one eye open, but at least I always had Sam backing me up. How am I supposed to work with this... thing... and trust he won't try to gank me in my sleep?"

Loki, who was still on the bed, echoed the sentiment.

"He could try," Castiel said, turning to him, "but the outcome would be grim. The red string binds you together, soul to soul. Like I said before, the further apart you are the more strain is put on the string causing you to feel those effects. Considering how much pain you seemed to be in, and the distance Loki had gone I would say you have maybe a 50 to 60 foot limit before you are subjected to it again." He shrugged. "As long as you stay close, you can avoid it."

They both rolled their eyes as they spoke over each other.

"Wonderful."

"Awesome."

"More importantly," Castiel continued, "the string connects your senses, most notably- your sense of touch. You may have noticed it when you were fighting earlier." When he received a blank expression from Dean, he added, "When Loki hit you before."

"What, the cheap shot to the gut?" Dean remembered. "What about it?"

"I... felt that." Loki's voice was barely audible. The others turned to him, but he was too deep in thought to notice. "I thought I was just imagining it then, but it happened again. When I had my hands around your throat. The minute I squeezed, I couldn't breathe. It actually felt like there were fingers digging into my own skin." His hand ghosted over his throat as he scowled, confusion making his brows purse. He looked up at Castiel, questioningly. "Are you trying to tell me that I will feel any kind of pain _he_ does?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

His jaw almost hit the floor. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Fire blazed behind those emerald eyes, and he cursed in a language that Dean didn't recognize. What ever it was, it sounded raw and poisonous. With rage swelling in his gut, he jumped to his feet. "What is wrong with your God, is he sadistic?!" Loki was screaming at Castiel, but the angel took it in stride. "Does he enjoy toying with people for his own amusement?!"

Castiel would have laughed in his face, if the situation itself wasn't so absurd. "Be. Careful." He threatened. "That's my father you're talking about. Besides, who are you to talk about the sadistic need to toy with people?"

Loki frowned as he was made to bite his tongue. He had a point, and that angered him all the more. This angel was beginning to really get on his nerves.

"Does it work the other way?" Dean asked, intrigued. "Will I feel _his_ pain?"

The question hung thickly between them, and they each looked to the other for an answer. If Loki had been in his right mind, he would have seen Castiel coming. The angel took the pale skin on Loki's forearm between his fingers, and twisted. It was childish, sure, but he could have done much worse. Loki started at the attack, more annoyed then anything, and snatched his arm back. But even he was interested in the outcome.

Dean shrugged, looking to his arm for any sign of pain. Nothing.

"I guess not." Castiel concluded.

"Well, hooray for small miracles," the hunter sighed.

Silence fell between the trio as the new information was allowed to sink in. Dean raked a hand through his damp hair. He suddenly felt very tired, and he wished to be in his bed and fast asleep. Loki was still angry, his face red and eyes shifty like he was thinking carefully about something. But what could they do? If God had put them together, then there really was no way out of it until He said so. Dean knew he'd done some real stupid things in his life, but this was like a kick in the balls.

Castiel on the other hand was back to being his usual calm, collected self. Dean hated that about him. He'd spent months trying to get the angel to act like less of a robot, and more of a 'person'. But he could go back and forth between the two like a switch, and today was a robot day. An angry robot at that. Since the release of Lucifer and Castiel's surprise resurrection, the two of them had been avoiding each other for whatever reason. Aside from the hospital when he demanded Dean's amulet, they hadn't spoken. Tonight was the first time in over a week, and this is the news he brings.

"If we're done here, I should go." Castiel's voice broke through the silence. "I was in the middle of my search before being summoned here."

"You're still looking for God?" he asked, surprised. "You didn't ask him where he was?"

Castiel nodded, but looked dejected all the same. "I did, but He wouldn't say. I can't say I'm not surprised."

It could have been very easy for Loki to keep his mouth shut and watch with delight as the angel mourned over the disappearance of his father. Hell, he would have relished in it. He had no allusions as to how both of these men felt about him. He felt the same in return.

This..._Castiel_... was the very embodiment of everything he hated about the midgardian higher beings. Obedient and loyal to their father, no matter what they were put through and lies they were told. Did they even know how far Yahweh's influence stretched? What exactly He was responsible for, outside of Midgard itself? He highly doubted it.

And this human, Dean. He was exactly the reason why Loki thought it was best he took the reigns of this realm. Dean was an uncultured, uncouth and bellicose tick of a man. Humans like him needed gods like Loki. They just didn't know it yet.

But he knew that the only way he was going to get out of this insane deal, was if he played the game. Self preservation trumps all else. He would keep things civil... for now. Helpful even. That wasn't to say he couldn't have fun with it.

"Last I saw Him, he was in my cell selling me on this foolish idea, before sending me here." That caught Castiel's attention. Loki deigned to hide a smirk. "But good luck getting in though. Asgard isn't a place where angels of your... _rank_... can roam without notice." That in itself wasn't a lie.

Castiel's blue eyes sparkled. "You say that as if angels of a higher rank can."

He shrugged. "You're not the first one I've met you know." This was also true. When you lived as long as he did, you made it your business to be aware of what was 'out there'. "I've been around a while and had occasion to... consort... with an angel once or twice."

"_You _dipped your wick in angel pie?" Dean was genuinely shocked. Maybe even a little impressed, but mostly shocked. How a raving lunatic like him could score a piece of ass straight from heaven, and a high ranking one at that, was a mystery. Granted, he was passable in the looks department he supposed, _for a dude_. But he was still all kinds of bat-shit crazy. "The poor girl."

Loki dismissed the humans candor, remaining attentive to Castiel. The angel seemed hopeful at the news.

"I'll take my chances." He finally said, strong with a renewed purpose. But instead of leaving, he closed the gap between them. "Before I go..." He extended his hand and laid it against Loki's chest. The demigod was about to swipe it away, but quickly thought better of it. Castiel could break him in half if he wanted to, and Loki rather liked his 6'1 height as it was. It wasn't until the sharp pain in his chest made him regret the decision. It felt like his bones were burning, but before he could say anything, Castiel spoke.

"Be thankful I'm even bothering to give you this protection, but it's for Deans sake and not yours." Then he did something that actually made a cold chill run down Loki's spine. He leaned in even closer to whisper in his ear. It was so quiet, and at such a deep timbre there was no way that Dean could have heard it, which he guessed was the point. "You're out of your depth here. If you do anything to the Winchesters, I will end you. God or no God. So do yourself a favor, pull your head out of your ass and do what you're told."

Not a lot scared Loki, but this time his tongue was thick in his mouth. In one swift move, Castiel was out of his range and saying a final goodbye to Dean. The rustling of feathers echoed, and he was gone.

They were finally left alone.

Across from him, Dean was still slumped in the chair staring daggers at him. "Happy little fellow, isn't he?" Loki joked. "I think he likes you. So protective."

If looks could kill, Dean would have sent him to hell and back twice by now. He tiredly got to his feet and headed to the bedside table where his backpack was. Inside were a few pairs of spare clothing, notes and trinkets he used for hunting. But there was one item in particular he was searching for. He could feel Loki's eyes burning a hole in his back, but he shrugged it off. He was too tired, and so far from caring at this point.

"Alright, listen up," he said as he pulled out articles of clothing as he searched. "I don't like this any more then you do, but the big guy upstairs gets his jollies from dicking around with us mere mortals. I guess he thinks we have nothing better to do." The sound of metal told him he'd found what he was looking for. He palmed it to keep it hidden, and turned to Loki who was standing on the other side of the room.

"I'm not here to protect you," he continued as he advanced on him, forcing Loki to back up, "or hold your hand, or wipe your bottom and tell you every things gonna be OK. You're not fired up with magic go-juice now, so the first thing you're gonna do is lose the attitude. If you keep your trap shut and do what you're told – when you're told – we'll get along just fine. Fingers crossed this will be over sooner rather then later. You understand me?"

They stood toe to toe for the umpteenth time tonight, Loki was beginning to feel all too familiar with it. He had to hand it to this human. Aside from Thor, no one else had the gall to keep getting in his face again and again while showing no fear.

But he just couldn't help himself. "And here I thought your little angel friend was feisty."

Dean's patience snapped. He fisted Loki's shirt. "Do. You. Understand. Me?" He took a step with each word, pushing Loki until the backs of his legs came into contact with the motel rooms radiator.

As much as he was supposed to feel threatened, he just didn't. If there wasn't so much weariness in the humans eyes, maybe he would. So instead, Loki smiled. Perhaps he had been wrong about this human after all. Pushing his buttons was way more fun then he first anticipated. "Perfectly." It came out more of a purr then anything else.

When Dean rounded on him, Loki had to take a deep breath. Suddenly, he was too close. "Good." The sound was raspy, and Loki shivered in spite of himself. When he felt a cool touch on his hand, he jumped. Then he heard the sound of clicking metal, and whatever he _thought_ was happening... wasn't. He looked down, then back at Dean. He was smirking.

"Oh, charming. Is this really necessary?" The handcuffs were tight around his right wrist, the other end wrapped securely around the pipes of the radiator. He couldn't believe it. "Get these things off me!"

Dean ignored him. He wandered back to the bed and let himself fall against the hard mattress. Even like this, it felt like heaven. He kicked off his boots and leaned back, sinking into the pillow. Loki was pulling on his cuffs, the sound of metal on metal grating in his ears.

"What are you doing? You can't just leave me locked up here!"

"Yeah, I can. Now shut your mouth. I need to get some sleep." Dean reached over and grabbed his gun. "You see this?" he asked, holding the piece up to show Loki. "It's a 9mm glock. Pretty standard weapon, really. You try making one move I don't like, I'll introduce you two real personal like. You get me?"

Loki snorted, baring his teeth. Nope, he was definitely right about this particular human. He _was_ a bastard.

Dean took his silence as a 'yes'. "Good. Now, let me sleep." He flipped off the light, and the room was plunged into darkness. Settling back against the pillow, he let his eyes finally close. Immediately he felt his body relax, despite the gun pressed into his hand. Across the room, he could still sense the demigod fuming, followed by the sound of sliding metal and a thud on the floor. He guessed Loki was sitting now and getting comfortable for the night.

"Do I at least get a blanket?"

Dean grinned smugly before relenting to his fatigue.

"No."

**o.O.o**

When Dean awoke the next morning, he had a blinding headache. It didn't help that his clothes were wrapped around him at odd angles and now stiff with dried blood, but the sound of his cell phone blaring in his ear felt like a noose around his brain. He rolled onto his back and stretched; bones creaking as his limbs lengthened. Half of him wanted to stay in bed and sleep for a few more hours. Since going his separate way from Sam, the nights had been restless. When he wasn't being kidnapped and feasted on by some random monster, that is. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd bedded some bar broad. That had to change.

He reached across to the bedside drawer to grab his phone, when he spied Loki. The raven haired man was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, his handcuffed wrist twisted but still secured. His head was tilted back slightly and his eyes were closed. Dean could just make out his chest raising and falling slowing and hear the faint sound of him snoring softly. He was thankful. The demigod was a conceited loudmouth. For all his good looks, which Dean noticed seemed even more graceful in his sleeping state, he couldn't afford to get complacent with him. He had protection, of sorts. Loki literally couldn't kill him outright, not without harming himself in the process. But what would happen if he tried to kill Loki instead? He deserved it after all. Would God step in? Would Loki's father?

He paused. _Wait, did I just think he was good looking twice in the span of a few hours? _The thought made him shudder. He needed to get laid – quickly - for his own sanity.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he read the display on his phone. A small part of him hoped it was Sam. It wasn't.

He cleared his throat. "Hey Bobby."

"Dean. How're you doin'?" The older hunter sounded as tired as he did. It'd only been a few days since he'd been released from the hospital, wheelchair in all. Dean had offered to stay with him for a while until he was settled, but the disgruntled old bastard had called him an _idjit _and sent him on his way.

He breathed a heavy sigh and cast another sideways glance at the sleeping demigod. "Just... great." Understatement.

"No word from Sam yet?" he asked with interest. But Dean stayed silent. "I'll take that as a 'no'. I just don't get you boys -"

"Bobby... don't." He couldn't do this just now. What could he say that he hadn't said already? Sam's betrayal was too deep. Too fresh. Instead, he brought the topic back on track. "What's up?"

He heard Bobby hesitate, then exhale. Dean could just picture him shaking his head with a cynical look on his face. "I got news on a job. Interested?"

Well, there went his sleep in. He stood and made his way to the small bathroom. He needed a shower, badly. Fresh clothes wouldn't hurt either. And food. God, what he wouldn't give for some bacon and eggs right now.

"Yeah, I guess," he said, closing the bathroom door and leaning against it. _But first..._ "Look, there's something you should no."

The hot, steamy water in the shower did wonders for his headache. It was a shame that Bobby's screaming and insistence that he lose Loki in a ditch somewhere was still bouncing around in his skull. It had taken all of Dean's verbal skills to calm the man down and explain why he couldn't do that. He wanted to! Lord, he wanted to. But thanks to the 'powers that be', that wasn't happening. The only thing he could do now was play along and ride it out. For how long though, was still a mystery.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he exited the bathroom only to be met by the very unamused gaze of the aforementioned demigod. It was funny how the man could go from a calm and peaceful look in his sleep, to a vicious scowl when awake. His gaze wondered up and down Dean's half naked body without any qualms. Dean almost hoped he'd gotten dressed in the bathroom.

"Do _I _at least get to bathe?" Loki asked, clearly annoyed. "My attire is filthy."

He wasn't kidding. The clothing he was wearing, a thin green shirt and black pants, were still damp and caked with dirt. During their numerous scuffles, a few rips and tears had also marred the garments. He guessed this was his prison outfit. At least it wasn't bright orange and of the jumpsuit variety.

He headed to his backpack and rummaged through it. "You got twenty minutes, then we're getting outta here." Pulling out a crumpled up, plaid shirt and a faded pair of blue jeans, he threw them to Loki who caught them clumsily with his uncuffed hand. "When you're done, put those on. Walk around looking like that and it'll draw unwanted attention."

Loki screwed up his nose as if smelling something rotten. "Do you not have anything a little less..." He stopped dead when Dean turned to him, fire in his eyes. "These are fine." Reluctantly, he took them and then jingled his handcuffs expectantly.

"Good." Setting aside the last set of spare clothes for himself, he took the keys to the cuffs and unlocked them, but not before getting in the first threat of the day. He was sure many more would follow. "Don't make me regret taking these off. Remember my good friend, 9mm?" He smiled; it wasn't friendly. "Now hurry up, we're on the road in twenty."

Loki shook his head, rolling his eyes in disdain. "And just where on the road are we going?" he asked, heading for the bathroom.

Dean pulled on a fresh tee-shirt. He'd thought about it while in the shower, and even Bobby had been against it. But just because he was now bound to this nutcase, he couldn't stop hunting. Besides, he was on the angels hit-list these days. They were going to come after him at some point, and fighting angels was on a whole other level then fighting monsters. If Loki was going to be tagging along without all his godlike power, he had to learn just what they were up against.

What better way to start then with a nest of bloodsuckers.

"Greeley, Pennsylvania," Dean said firmly. "Some vamps have a date with my blade. Strap your boots on princess, time for your first hunt."

* * *

A/N: A bit late this week updating. Lots of housework and painting of bathrooms going on. Still lots of it to go too, so updates might still be a little late. Kids, when you buy a house and decide to rent it out... don't :P It does a number on your brain and time.

Again, a little longer then I wanted but I wanted the 'introduction' over with. Time to get on with the nitty gritty.


End file.
